We Aren't Quite Sure What Happened Here
by Caffeinated Star
Summary: A ridiculous parody of "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny." Read at your own risk. Re-post.


**Um, I was bored. Parody of "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny." I don't own the chorus, or the song. Please look it up on YouTube, it's hilarious. I'm not quite sure where this was meant to go, but whatever. Hope you enjoy.**

**Note: this was put up before, but I switched email accounts, and made a new one fanfic account. So yeah. This is mine and mine alone, although I do not own FMA.**

**Warning: just a tiny bit OOC in the end.  
**

**

* * *

**

**We Aren't Sure What Happened With This One**

Ed was drunk, and Roy meant seriously drunk. And apparently, when Ed was drunk, he liked to sing.

Badly.

"Old Roy Mustang–"

He was _not _old.

"was hopping around, Amestris City like a big playground, when suddenly Hawkeye burst from the shade, and hit Mustang with a Hawk grenade. Mustang got pissed and they began to have sex-"

Roy did not think his face could get any redder, but Hawkeye was in the same position. His other subordinates, of course, were laughing.

"But didn't expect to be blocked by Havoc, who proceeded to open up a can of Havoc-fu when Fuery came out of the blue. And he started to show around Black Hayate, and they both got flattened by the Hawk mobile, but before she could make it back to the Hawk cave, King Bradley popped out of his grave."

Wait, when did Bradley die?

"He took an AK-47 out from under his hat, and blew Hawkeye away with a rat-a-tat-tat, but he ran out of bullets and ran away –"

Although why the old Fuhrer would run away when he had an Ultimate Eye was completely lost on Roy. He was having too much fun watching Edward act like a fool, though, and had no inclination to stop him.

"When Alphonse Elric came to save the day! THIS IS THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN, OF ULTIMATE DESTINY. GOOD GUYS BAD GUYS AND EXPLOSIONS, AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE, AND ONLY ONE CAN SURVIVE, I WONDER WHO IT WILL BE, THIS IS THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN, OF ULTIMATE DESTINY!"

"Hey Colonel," whispered Breda from the side. "When do you think he'll stop?"

"Not exactly sure," shrugged Mustang. "When he throws up? But Hughes is taking pictures, so we'll have evidence for tomorrow morning."

"And blackmail," muttered Havoc from the side.

"Like I would do that," said Roy airily, turning back to Edward.

"–Havoc came back covered in a tire track, and Ling jumped and landed on his back. Hawkeye was injured and trying to get steady, when King Bradley came back with a machete. But something caught his leg and he tripped, Envy took him out with his whip. But he saw Mustang coming up from behind, and he reached for his gun, which he just couldn't find, cause Hawkeye stole it and she shot and she missed–"

Roy doubted that would ever happen, but if Edward would like to believe that, he would let him. However, it might not be such a good idea. Maybe, he should confront him when he was sober.

"But Ling deflected it with his fist. He jumped in the air and did a somersault, while King Bradley tried to pole vault, but they collided in the air and got hit by an Elysia stare!"

The door creaked open, distracting the group observing Ed's shenanigans in awe.

"What's going on?" whispered a metallic voice. It was Alphonse.

"Your brother's drunk," Fuery said without ado.

"What? How did that happen?" exclaimed Al.

"Breda bet him that he couldn't down more than a bottle without passing out. He's still drinking as we speak," explained Hawkeye with a sigh.

"Shouldn't we… stop him?" Alphonse said pleadingly.

"Nah, this is way too fun!" said Havoc excitedly.

They all turned back to Ed, who had been singing the whole time.

"The fight raged on for a century, many lives were claimed, but eventually, the champion stood, the rest saw the better, EDWARD ELRIC IN A BLOODSTAINED SWEATER!"

"Oh brother," Al sighed, and Roy echoed it in agreement. The young alchemist's ego was as big as ever, even when he was drunk.

"THIS IS THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN, THIS Is… the–this is the–" Edward was wavering now, singing to himself. Finally, he fell flat on his face, snoring, with a finished bottle of brandy in his hand. The group rushed over to check on him, as Breda counted the number of bottles the kid had drunk.

"How many?" asked Havoc, as Alphonse picked Edward up and pried the bottle out of his hand. He tossed it aside, only for Breda to catch it.

"Counting this one," he mused. "Six."

"You guys get to clean up his vomit in the morning," Alphonse scolded.

"What!?" yelled Breda and Havoc.

Hawkeye smirked at Alphonse, before turning towards the shocked men. "Well, you two did lose the bet. You have to give something to him. Did you guys even set the terms for if he won?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter," said Hughes, waving the pictures. "We have enough blackmail to make him do anything."

"Besides, I doubt he's going to remember anything," added Roy.

The rest of the group agreed, and made their way back to Headquarters, to do the work they had neglected. Edward was laid down on the couch, where he slept until the next morning.

Ed felt like crap. He groaned, sitting up. What had happened last night? He vaguely remembered alcohol, and a bet, but that was about it.

"Oh, ni-san, you're up," said Al, looking up from a book.

"Al? Where am I?"

"Central, pipsqueak," said Roy, pausing to look up. Everyone covered their ears, waiting for Edward's rant.

Ed just rolled over onto his side, clutching his ears. "Too… loud…" he muttered, curling up on his side.

"Wow, you must be seriously hung-over," commented Havoc.

Edward moaned in response. His head was buzzing; his tongue felt numb and every single part of his body seemed to have turned to lead. Something weird was on his jacket. "What is the stuff on my coat?" Ed asked bewildered, frowning down at the funny colored stuff

"Vomit," Al answered, not looking up from his book.

"Why is there vomit on my jacket?" he demanded.

"Don't you remember anything from last night?" asked Roy, enjoying another distraction from his paperwork.

"Not particularly."

"You downed six bottles of brandy, kid. You were drunker than the time Havoc got depressed about the Colonel stealing another one of his girlfriends," said Breda.

"Why?"

"Don't you remember the bet?" asked Hawkeye with a smirk thrown in Breda's direction, who paled considerably. Everyone in the room knew he hated losing bets.

"Not exactly."

"Well, Breda said you could never drink more than one bottle of brandy, so you got up and started downing them, one by one. You were singing by the second," explained Fuery.

Ed rolled back over, without actually getting up, to look at the group. That at least explained why his head insisted on throbbing. He wanted aspirin. And maybe a drink of water, his mouth was completely dry.

"We also got photographic evidence," Mustang added vaguely.

"What!" Ed shouted, shooting up rapidly, which he regretted when his head began to spin around. He dropped it back into his hands, hoping that everyone thought he was just embarrassed. Not that it exactly mattered at the moment. All he wanted to do was kill someone, and Mustang was conveniently there. Ed wondered how much the military would charge him for killing this hated bastard. Maybe, they would let him off scot-free, if Ed revealed that Mustang had been planning on becoming Fuhrer.

The bastard was talking again. "Maes took them," he said, tossing a few to Edward. Needless to say, they were awful. "And don't bother ripping them up," Mustang continued. "We have much more."

"Bastard," Ed groaned, tossing away the pictures and rolling back onto his side, facing away from everyone.

Al shot a worried look at his brother, wondering if he would be in much pain for longer.

"Don't worry, his hangover will go away in a day or two," soothed Havoc. "Unless, he's done this before."

"No, he hates alcohol," Al said.

"Well then, he's kinda screwed," said Havoc.

"I hate you all," muttered Ed to the couch. "Especially the bastard with a god complex in the chair. Maybe you'll all drop dead."

"Now, now, Edo," said Mustang, ignoring Ed's shout of "Don't call me Edo!" Mustang continued, "You would've been stuck vomiting all by yourself, if one of us hadn't taken you back."

"I bet Al brought me here," said Edward to the couch.

"Uh, well, yes, but that's not the point," Mustang said.

"Then what is?"

"Er…"

"Ed – 1, Colonel – 0," whispered Fuery over to the side, where he, Havoc and Breda had started keeping score.

"Miniskirts?" Roy said feebly. Hawkeye got out her gun, and shot once.

"Ed – 1, Colonel – 0, Hawkeye – 1," whispered Havoc furiously, where the three cowered in a corner.

"No more talk about the miniskirts," snapped Hawkeye. "Now, I believe you have paperwork to do." The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at him, and he instantly blanched.

"Ed – 1, Colonel – 0, Hawkeye – 2."

"What does miniskirts have to do with this?" Ed muttered.

"You see, when he becomes Fuhrer, the first thing he wants to do is make all the women wear miniskirts," explained Havoc, with starry-eyes.

"So, basically, he's using his power to degrade all the women around us?" Ed said blatantly.

"Ed – 2, Colonel – 0, Hawkeye – 2; It's just not the Colonel's day is it?" said Fuery sympathetically. The other two men shook their heads sadly, agreeing with him.

"Edward gets kinda snippy when he's drunk, doesn't he?" murmured Havoc.

"Isn't he always?" joked Breda. The three thought about it for a moment, and nodded vigorously together.

"I am not doing that!" shouted Mustang, jumping from his seat. "I am making use of my resources!"

"And now he's trying to justify it," Ed said under his breath, for everyone to hear.

"Ed – 3, Colonel – 0, Hawkeye - 2."

"At least I don't wear platform boots to make myself taller," snapped Mustang.

"Ed – 3, Colonel – 1, Hawkeye – 2," whispered Breda, as they watched Ed finally get angry at a short joke.

The next day they had to explain exactly why Colonel Mustang's desk had been completely blown up into pieces.


End file.
